White Lies, Dark Secrets
by Crystalline-illusions
Summary: We are the residents of Manhattan's golden mile - young, wealthy, beautiful and jaded. Perfection says it all. We have everything...until someone comes back to take it all.
1. Prologue

**Hey, this is my new story in replacement of my old story, Sweet Revenge. This is an attempt to write a Clique/Pretty Little Liars/Gossip Girl -esque story, and as I'm a complete novice on it, I would appreciate any criticisms and compliments too (: That's all, enjoy. **

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**Fisher's Yacht, Atlantic – **_**6.30 p.m**_

"This. Is. Awesome." Claire Lyons breathed, closing her eyes and leaning back on the rail of the huge yacht. The slight autumn breeze was cool on her moist skin, and she could almost taste the salty sea spray in the air. Summer was fading, along with all the non-stop partying and carefree-ness.

The annual Last Summer Party was coveted as _the_ social event of the year. With its selective guest list, it wasn't easy to score an invite. Every year, it was hosted by a member of the graduating A-list. This year, the honour went to Harris Fisher, the delicious golden boy-slash-lacrosse captain of St. Geraldine Academy. The party, as was the tradition, was held on the Fisher's yacht, which Harris had "borrowed" from his father, and was now cruising slowly along the Atlantic, off the coast of New York.

"It is." Massie Block agreed, "Cheers." The clear clinking of the glasses prompted Kristen Gregory, who had been lounging at the side, her legs interlocked at the ankles, to crack open an eye. Her skin still glistened with water after her dip in the ocean, giving the impression that she was sparkling. Kristen Gregory was effortlessly gorgeous, Massie couldn't help think dreamily.

Her golden curls that glimmered in the setting sun rippled down her back and her mile-long, slender legs spilled out of her strapless pearlescent bikini. This usually made Massie immensely jealous and self-conscious, but now all she could think of was how much Kristen looked like a stunning mermaid.

Shit. The alcohol must be getting to her.

"Lay off on the booze, you guys. School starts tomorrow and I swear to god I'm not going to help you guys explain to Headmistress about your tendencies to act like a walking zombie _again_." Kristen drawled in annoyance, casting a sideways glance at her best friends, Claire and Massie, who both looked as if they had drowned themselves in alcohol. Her eyes were half closed, her long eyelashes casting shadows on her angular cheekbones.

"Chill, Kristen." Claire sighed, exchanging an exasperated glance with Massie. "It's the last day of summer! This party rocks. Oh, speaking of the party, wonder how long poor little Harris will have to stay in his room once his father finds out his yacht is missing?"

Kristen and Massie laughed, remembering the time when Harris's father had sailed with the US marine police to go looking for Harris, who had taken his yacht for a party. The comical sight of Harris's father, eyes bulging with rage, when he had finally found his yacht and many teenagers who were completely stoned out of their minds. The highlight of the whole thing was when Harris, under the influence of alcohol of course, mistook his father for a male stripper that the campus prankster, Danny Robbins had hired and proceeded to encourage the "stripper" to carry on with his job.

"I'm aware of my deeds of heroism," A shirtless Harris sauntered up to them, putting his impressive six-pack on display. "But how's the party, ladies?"

Massie smirked. "Hot." Then she placed a hand on his bare, muscled chest and leaned closer so she could whisper into his ear. "Like you."

"Really?" Harris murmured back, a smile playing at the corner of his lips which were inches away from Massie's, as he wrapped an arm around Massie's bare waist in front view of Alicia Rivera, his current flavor of the week.

But of course, Massie, in her dark coral bead bikini that barely covered her at all, was pretty hard to resist. Claire and Kristen could only stifle their laughter behind their hands as they watched Massie and Harris flirt, blindly oblivious to the death-glares that Alicia Rivera shot the pair.

A momentary ray from the sun blinded everyone on the yacht. Claire and Kristen turned to watch the burnt gold sun dip into the horizon as light drenched the yacht. Then the magnificent palette of crimson and burnt sienna of the sky faded into inky black darkness. For a second, complete darkness seemed to settle on the yacht.

Then, so sudden it startled everyone, the fireworks burst into the sky, all reds and golds and blues and greens and silvers.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as the fireworks illuminated the yacht. Claire could see most of the faces glance up in awe. She could see Nikki Dalton making out with her new boy toy, pressed so tightly together that Claire wondered if they could even breathe. She could see Griffin Hastings, Harris Fisher and a couple of other juniors, Derrick Harrington, Cam Fisher and Josh Hotz punching each other on the arm playfully. Typical. Only Derrick, Cam and Josh could be tight with the graduating A-list. Finally, she could see her beloved friends, soft smiles on their faces.

Claire reached out for the hands of Kristen and Massie, and as the three of them held their hands and their breath, they stared out at the crystalline ocean, glowing softly under the moonlight.

"Forever." Claire whispered to both of them, and the three of them linked their arms tightly together. Claire wanted to commit this moment to memory, to etch it in her mind, to capture it, forever.

Then the moment ended and the spell was broken.

Someone screamed. An ear-piercing, spine-chilling, blood-curdling scream.

The three girls stood up, looking around for the source of the noise, like the rest of the partying crowd. A pale-faced girl emerged from the basement. Claire recognized Cookie Elson, the valedictorian of the current year. A few hours ago, she had been composed, calmly giving a confident speech in front of the whole school on the stage. Now, she was reduced to a puddle, trembling all over, and she could barely speak, let alone stand.

Harris dashed forward and caught her before she fell to the floor.

"What's wrong? Cookie, talk to me!" He asked her frantically. Cookie tried to speak, but all that came out were incoherent grunts. Then Claire took in her hands, which were slick with a dark red liquid, and her face, which was cut on one cheek.

The sharp-eyed Kristen rushed forward and picked up the piece of paper that had fluttered out of Cookie's hands.

"What does it say?" A ripple of murmurings had gone through the crowd, all too terrified and stunned to do anything else but cluster around Harris and Cookie.

"You know you love me…" Kristen recited from the note, then looked up in bemusement. "Z."


	2. The Ultimate Farewell

**OMG, thanks for all the encouragement, advice and comments, also the people who read this story (: They make my day. I know there are many questions...but rest assured they will all be answered in the course of the story ;). I'd like to thank everyone for their valuable opinions, and I'll take the advice into account. I'd also like to especially thank _miyame-chan, _who has faithfully reviewed every single chapter of every one of my stories. And yes, i'm talking about THAT Sweet Revenge. **

**On a side note, this chapter might not be that interesting because it's just an information chapter, something to give you background information and introduce the characters. **

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**Grace Church, New York – **_**7.20 a.m.**_

Soft, sad and slow music floated from the organ at the corner of the church, the slim fingers of the organist a graceful dance that flew across the keys. Like everyone else, he was dressed in black. The melody seemed to weave through the atmosphere, and into the hearts of many, drowning out the many sounds. Hushed voices. Bitter murmurings. Disguised glee. Sorrowful sobs.

But everything was dimmed by the melody. It was as if no one dared to speak loudly or do anything that would attract attention to themselves. Massie Block herself stood at the side of the church quietly, just in front of the red velvet curtains, her hands wrapped around herself.

It was only the beginning of autumn, yet the cold was unbearable. And the cool stone tiles and high, open windows of the church provided no more warmth than Mother Nature. She shivered and glanced around. The funeral of Alicia Rivera was a grand affair, almost all the elite of New York turned up, given that she was the daughter of a top-notch attorney in the society, Len Rivera.

Men eagerly offered their sympathetic condolences to Len Rivera. Women fawned against the crying Nadia Rivera. But not one of them, Massie noticed, were actually sincere. Well, Alicia was…not exactly universally beloved. Being the queen of St. Geraldine, she had made quite a few foes. Speaking of her school…where were her best friends, Kristen and Claire?

Claire, she could understand. She was always late, whether "fashionably" or by "accidentally". You'd arrange to meet her two days before and still be waiting twenty minutes after she had _pinky-swore_ that she would reach on time. But Kristen…was a stickler for punctuality. It was typical for a classic overachieve, a perfectionist, and a Gregory. Not a second early or late. So where _were_ they? She frowned.

Just as she was about to dig out her custom-made royal purple iPhone to give her friends a piece of her mind for leaving her alone, a hand grabbed her waist. Panic seized her throat. She stiffened. For a moment, images exploded through her mind, too shaky and sudden to make sense of. Her natural instinct was to scream, but found that her mouth was tightly covered by another hand. Too stunned to struggle, she was pulled back into the red velvet curtains. Her back was shoved into the stone wall roughly. A mouth hungrily attacked hers. It was hard, demanding…but familiar.

"Josh Hotz!" She spluttered, putting her hands on his well defined chest and shoving him away from her as hard as she could. "What the hell?"

"What?" A look of faux innocence crossed his devastatingly handsome face as he put a hand to his shoulder like he had been shot at point blank range. "I'm not allowed to kiss my girlfriend? Which, by the way, looks totally bangable right now." His dark eyes slid slyly from her face and down her body, which gave Massie a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold of the church.

She looked down at herself, in her tight, short Valentino black velvet strapless dress. He was right; her dress was so tight it emphasized every curve in her body and accentuated her bare, creamy shoulders. Her shoes, black suede ankle boots, did nothing but lengthen her already long legs. She looked like she was attending one of her traditional A-list raves which she usually threw, not a funeral.

"You know," she murmured against his lips as he leaned in for another make-out session. "I'm not sure you should be thinking such dirty thoughts in a church…" She felt his lips curve into a smirk. "…especially at the funeral of your friend." Josh pulled back suddenly.

Massie reached out an arm to pull in back, disappointed at the loss of contact, but noticed his eyes. His chocolate brown eyes. That were filled with what Massie could only describe as black hatred.

"She was never a friend of mine." He muttered darkly. "She was a stone cold bitch."

Massie gasped, then stared at him disbelievingly. "Josh!" She hissed. "We ran in the same social circles, show some respect. And she's…dead."

"Death doesn't make you a saint." He spat angrily, his eyes finally meeting hers before his fist shot out and punched the wall beside her.

Massie stifled a scream, her heart pounding as she quickly shifted away from him. She had known him since young, seen him in different moods before, but his main modes were calm and cool and brooding. She hadn't known that he was actually capable of being angry. But then again, how well did she really _know_ him? They had only been dating for two days when they had hooked up at Harris's party. Before that, they rarely interacted. All she knew about him was that you wanted someone to do your dirty work, like sell pot or supply illegal booze, or plotting revenge against someone; he was the man for it. And you'd go to him knowing that one day he'd cash in on all the favours.

And she knew that he was certainly capable of some…things. And he seemed so angry, he had punched the wall so hard that his knuckles were bleeding. So angry…angry enough to kill? Then she shook her head slightly. What the hell was she thinking? The killer had already been apprehended. Kristen was right, the alcohol _was_ getting to her.

"Josh!" She uttered, swallowing hard. "Stop it. You're scaring me. What happened?" She took his injured fist into her hands gently, but the moment she made contact he jerked his hand away sharply, as if her touch burned him. More fear crashed into her like a wave. What was his deal?

Her face must be an open book, because Josh seemed to read her mind. Almost immediately, he switched modes. His usual cool demeanour was back in place, his eyes nonchalant once more, even mustering up a reassuring smile. Was his cool guy image only a façade, could there be a passionate, angry guy underneath the surface? Massie wondered, marveling at his sudden change.

"Sorry, I just…I'll talk to you later, okay? I need some fresh air." He turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving her standing behind the curtains, her pulse racing, and blood still on her hands.

**Grace Church Courtyard – **_**8.00 p.m.**_

Claire Lyons ran a hand down the side of her sleeveless Tory Burch midnight black silk tunic helplessly as she watched Harris Fisher bury his head in his arms. Comforting him was just like comforting a baby – and you know they did non-stop crying. And why was he even crying like that? Everyone knew he and Alicia were just "friends with benefits". Why, he had even been flirting with Massie just two days ago.

"Harris, it's gonna be okay." She sighed absently, patting his back.

"It's just…I miss her so much." Harris mumbled, in the most guilt ridden voice Claire had ever heard, "And to think I was flirting with Massie. It's all my fault."

"Hey, snap out of it. It's your fault as much as it's mine. If anyone, it's Cookie's fault." Claire said half-heartedly..

"Yeah," He said, so sudden and so angry that it caught Claire's attention. "Yeah, it was Cookie. That bitch took her away from me." Then his voice trembled, and he broke down again. Claire suppressed a sigh and rubbed circles on his back. She didn't even know why she had bothered trying to comfort him. It just felt like her duty, since Alicia, who had ruled the social scene at St. Geraldine Academy, had named Claire as her successor. But this duty was proving to be even more difficult than her treacherous climb to the top of the social ladder.

"Alicia was so perfect, how could Cookie bear to take her away?" _Perfect, huh? A little exaggerated, don't you think? _

Then all of a sudden, a rush of hot fury surged through Claire, threatening to spill over. Harris was right. Cookie had no right to take Alicia's life. This rush of hatred dimmed her sorrow for Alicia's death and gave Claire the sudden animalistic rush to kill. And here Harris was crying his heart out like he'd been the ultimate faithful boyfriend to Alicia. _No, no._ Claire reproached herself. She was supposed to be the sane one here. Claire focused on the raindrops clattering to the grey, concrete ground in torrents to calm herself down, staring so hard her eyes hurt. She had to be strong.

Claire cast her mind back to the past two days. Cookie Elson had been found with the bloodstains of Alicia, the murder weapon also contained her prints. Alicia's autopsy report showed that Cookie was the only person that Alicia had been in a struggle with. All evidence pointed to Cookie. She even had a perfect motive - jealousy. As it went, Cookie had been severely jealous of Alicia, having had a full-blown crush on Harris for half her life, and also being Alicia's second-in-command. Everything fit, pieces fell into place like they fell into a jigsaw puzzle, and the NYPD saw the obvious choice.

Still, doubts weren't completely cleared. Alicia had been near Claire, Kristen and Massie just a few minutes before the fireworks. Then right after the fireworks she had been killed. Cookie hadn't been anywhere in sight. How did Cookie manage to lure her to the basement in just a few minutes, then kill her? And why would Cookie, the smartest girl in her year, with her top G.P.A., be stupid enough to run up to the deck with Alicia's blood and announce her body to the whole world? Or maybe she just did it because it would come off as stupid, taking the suspicion off her. The mysterious "Z" that had written the note was also a case that couldn't be easily dismissed. Claire shook her head again, trying to clear her head of the thoughts. Who did she think she was The FBI? _Too much CSI. _

Cookie had been tried in court, found guilty, and persecuted. However, on account of her age, and the report by the psychiatrist that had testified her as mentally ill, she was sent to Catherian Asylum, a sanctuary for the…mentally impaired. Though her lenient punishment probably had more to do with the huge fat check that her Daddy had paid the judge, Claire thought venomously.

"Cookie got her punishment already, and she's going to rot in hell for what she did to Alicia. She's already destroyed Alicia, don't let her destroy you too." Claire squeezed Harris's hand, glad that her voice came out coolly, minimal anger in it.

Harris finally lifted his head, his shattering blue eyes looking right into her clear cornflower blue ones. He gave her a weak smile and said, "Thanks, Claire. Alicia was right about you. You _are_ amazing."

Claire felt a strong rush of joy, mingled with surprise.

"Really?" Claire's head snapped up, before she remembered who she was. Claire Lyons was never fazed. Hurriedly arranging her features into a cool and bored expression, she cocked an eyebrow. But the astonishment and utter joy was still there.

Alicia said that about her? With her father's connections and her beauty, Claire was an automatic in with the elite after a phase of brutal hazing ever since freshman year. She had idolized Alicia from the start, looked to her for everything, and tried to befriend her. Her efforts were not in vain, because soon after she had been taken under Alicia's wing. However, nothing she did seemed to please Alicia. Just when she had thought that she would never get accepted, Alicia had turned and named her as a successor.

Smiling slightly as the memories of Alicia washed back, she exchanged a hug with Harris before he stood up and stepped inside the church.

"Coming?"

"No, I just want to be alone for a while." Claire offered a smile.

Harris shrugged and disappeared out of her sight.

Her baby blue LG shine vibrated in her bag, indicating a new text message. Claire rolled her eyes, retrieving her phone. She hoped it wasn't Harris again, grieving about Alicia. He was hot and all that, but sometimes he could be awfully needy. Alicia had complained enough about his clinginess. And it better not be one of her minions coming to bother her or ask if they could attend Alicia's funeral. Because if it was, she would –

What she would have done, she never found out, because she froze the moment she saw her text message and promptly wiped her brain clean. _Who, where, how?_ She thought numbly. _And why? _

To: Claire Lyons

From: Blocked Number

Naughty Claire-bear, I know what you did. – Z

**Grace Church Chapel – 9.00 p.m. **

For the umpteenth time, Dylan Marvil gathered her sleek auburn curls that she had specially straightened for the funeral and swept it into a chignon at the nape of her pale neck. She fidgeted impatiently, tugging the hem of her black, high-necked Catherine Malandrino silk dress down and tapping her fingers on the wooden armrest beside her to the rhythm of the Pastor's droning voice which she had long since tuned out. Desperately wishing that she had had the sense to at least wear her comfy Converses. But no, society code insisted that she should wear itchy, formal black heels, and she'd gone alone with it.

With lack of something better to do, she took a glance around the room, mentally assessing each and every one of her schoolmates, hoping she'd see something that she could use against them in the future. People tended to show their true colours when they thought no one was watching them. After all, she was the gossip guru of St. Geraldine Academy. Even the ex-Queen Bee, who was currently lying in a box at the altar, had required her services for a few times, which she had charged preciously for, of course.

Nikki Dalton, as usual, dressed in her – _ahem_ – risqué dress that resembled underwear were fondling with her latest boy toy, Danny Robbins, gaining many disapproving looks around her. _Nothing special there_.

Skye Hamilton, glaring at Alicia Rivera's picture displayed in prominent view, her jaw clenched tight in a way that Dylan knew showed that she was angry. _Hmm, interesting_. Skye was one of Alicia's minions, and Dylan had been betting her ass that Alicia would name Skye as her successor. But no, she had named Claire Lyons, who was patting the back of Harris Fisher while he sobbed into her arms. _Moving on the boyfriend so quickly?_ Dylan filed it away for future reference.

Meanwhile, Massie Block, who was one of Claire Lyons' best friends, was staring numbly into space, her boyfriend nowhere in sight. Josh Hotz and Massie Block were usually attached at the hip, but now he had mysteriously disappeared. _Curiouser and curiouser. _

Instead, in Josh's place, was Derrick Harrington, staring at his metallic silver Blackberry, a smirk flitting across his features. The resident player was most probably already contacting one of his bed-partners, referring to the group of girls who still stuck to him even though they knew that he would break their hearts.

Shaking his head resignedly at Derrick was Chris Plovert and his best buddy, Kemp Hurley, both of whom seemed to have a strong urge to be together at all times. _And I thought only girls went to the bathroom together_. Their personalities were like fire and ice however. Chris Plovert was domineering and overbearing to his girlfriend, insisting that she do what he said and wear what he dictated. Kemp Hurley, however, was untouchable, being the golden boy of St. Geraldine Academy. Now, they were murmuring to each other, casting furtive glances around as if to see if anyone overheard them.

"Don't stare, it's creepy." A deep, velvet voice broke her out of her reverie. Dylan whirled around in shock to see her best friend, Cam Fisher, sitting in the seat behind her. Her dashing best friend was the resident sweetheart, a pretty boy who used his looks and charm to date girls as a means to an end. Dylan rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him and quickly turned back to the front.

So this left Kristen Gregory, the high-maintenance, uptight, classic overachiever, who was virtually missing from the funeral. It was most unlike her, and since her friends were here, where the hell was she?

_Perhaps off to do some investigating on the "Z" herself_, mused Dylan. Kristen was, hands down, the smartest girl Dylan had ever seen.

"And with that, we bid farewell to Alicia Rivera." The pastor announced, interrupting her thoughts, looking very relieved himself that the ceremony had ended. The people stood up and started to surge out, Dylan at the head of the crowd. She was desperate to get out of those killer pumps that had been squeezing her feet all day.

Suddenly, a shadow at the gate caught her eye, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. Dylan frowned, but was soon distracted by the snaps and growls of the crowd.

Later, when she was at the common room of Winston House, her house at St. Geraldine Academy, punching Cam on the arm for one of his lame jokes, she couldn't help thinking, no, she knew that the shadow at the gate was Kristen Gregory.

Then she received a text from her private phone. Which was very, very rare, because no one had her number for this phone. Absolutely no one. Who _was_ this creep? What she saw next had her taking a very deep breath. This bitch was challenging her? _The_ Dylan Marvil?

To: Dylan Marvil

From: Blocked Number

One queen down, now it's your turn. Join me in a game of chess? – Z

_Game on, bitch. _

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**You know what to do. ;) **_  
_


	3. The Place of the Damned

**...And I'm back from the dead. ENJOY! **

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**Catherian Sanitorium, New York – **_**11.30 p.m.**_

Kristen Gregory scorned fortune telling. To her, it was nothing more than an elaborate stage set up by pretentious phonies determined to con weak-willed people out of their money. So of course, she hadn't been listening when the world-renowned Madame Henlé had cautioned her that she was going to have some very bad luck this year. Now, in light of what had already happened, the gypsy's soft, quavering voice drifted back. _Keep your friends close, your enemies closer…a friend always holds the_ knife.

A bone-numbing chill that had nothing to do with the biting autumn wind coursed through her spine. Taking a deep breath, Kristen wrapped her black velvet trench coat around her tightly and pulled her cap even lower, hoping desperately that the moonlight did not glint off the few strands of golden-blonde hair that had fallen from under the cap. For self-explanatory purposes, she had chosen the most inconspicuous coat she had and dull black jeans. With the unflattering backpack over her shoulders, she hoped she looked like a homeless junkie to passers-by.

Despite the cold, she felt a sense of security. Of course, you could never be _too safe_ in New York. God knows what would happen if the real homeless junkies took notice of her. Hunching her shoulders, she quickened her pace.

In the dark, Catherian Sanitorium loomed ahead of her – imposing and proud like ancient architecture, but blurred and vague, like it encased dark secrets – sticking out at harsh angles. The heavy, wrought iron gates with wickedly sharp spikes at the top kept everything out – and everything in. Without surprise, Kristen noted that it was locked shut with a rusty, mould-infested padlock.

This would be the part where she put her martial arts skills – she was secretly a karate black belt – and scale over the gates, she thought humourlessly, if she were in a movie. However, as this was reality, she pulled out her gold monogrammed Blackberry and texted the nurse she had bribed at Alicia's funeral.

A middle aged woman, her hair a colourless yellow, dressed in the standard nurse attire appeared within minutes. Gazing at Kristen intently, she passed the keys to her wordlessly. Kristen forced a smile and nodded at the woman, thanking her.

The woman leaned in and whispered, "Whatever you do, Miss Gregory, don't wake _them_ up."

And then she was gone.

A flash of uncertainty passed over Kristen. Was she really going to do this? Kristen Gregory, model student and poster child of St. Geraldine Academy, law abiding student with not a toe out of line, trespassing government property? If she was caught, she could lose everything. Whatever. If this Z person wasn't stopped, she would lose everything anyway. As she crept in, making sure her sneakers did not scrape the leaves littering the ground, her mind flashed back to the text message she had received during Alicia's funeral earlier on.

_Honey, remember when we were kids? I saw you sweeping the floor… - Z _

This would not have sounded even mildly threatening to anyone else, but she had literally dropped everything on her hands and bribed the nurse, then called in sick at the academy to fake an alibi for this night's journey to Catherian Sanitorium.

Room 301, the nurse had told her. For a moment, she stared at the door, hesitating. Something seemed off. For one, the corridors were completely deserted despite the guards being on duty. And it was completely silent. Not even the occasional snore or whimper from an inmate, or the footsteps of nurses and guards. As usual, Kristen chalked it up to her paranoia.

She pushed open the door gingerly.

Cookie Elson was curled on the edge of the bed, staring blankly into space. She looked like a little girl, innocent and frightened. The confident, suave, high-maintenance teenage girl was gone. She didn't even look up at the intruder.

Among all the seniors, she had been on best terms with Cookie Elson. She identified best with the former Valedictorian, former poster child and model student. Both of them had been determinedly competitive, classically overachieving, children of parents who had sky-high expectations, and best friends to the Queen Bee. However, unlike Kristen and Claire who were really best friends, Alicia Rivera and Cookie Elson had a friendship based on convenience.

Cookie had always been sorely jealous of Alicia, but Kristen didn't believe for one second that she had murdered Alicia. She knew this because she was clear of Cookie's personality. Cookie was a good girl, through and through. Sure, she had a few dark secrets of her own, but who didn't? Even if Cookie had harboured thoughts of ill-will against Alicia, she would never have carried them out. It just wasn't in her. A sudden feeling of tenderness for Cookie washed over Kristen, invoked by pity.

"Cookie? It's Kristen." She whispered, bending over Cookie. The girl lifted her eyes and stared at Kristen. For a moment, her brown eyes were blank, then they widened in recognition. A combination of relief, panic and fear overtook them and Kristen knew Cookie was going to scream. Hastily, she jammed her hand against Cookie's mouth.

"Shit, Cookie. Do you want to get me in trouble? Damn it. I'm here to help you." Kristen hissed fiercely. Cookie's eyes flashed, locking eyes with Kristen for a full ten seconds, and Kristen thought she could once again see the former valedictorian. Then the brown irises quivered and dropped so she looked like a contrite little girl again. The battle was over. Slowly, Kristen released her hand.

"God, Kristen," Cookie cried the moment her mouth met no hindrance, her words tumbling out in a frenzy, "You have to get me out of here. You have to. This is no place for me. This is _hell_. Please, Kris, please – "

"Calm down!" Kristen said, sharply. "I'll find a way to help you. Now, tell me what happened that day."

"Okay, okay." A shadow passed over her face. "I was in the bathroom, touching up on my make-up. Then someone came up to me and knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I was in the basement. I saw Alicia's body and realized I was holding a bloodstained knife, so I freaked. Of course I freaked, right? Anyone would. So I ran up. The-Then –" A sob escaped her. "The police didn't believe me. They didn't."

"Okay, relax. I get it. I get it. Oh my god, chill!" Kristen almost screamed in frustration, struggling to keep her emotions on leash. Cookie visibly tried to calm herself down. Kristen watched and prayed as Cookie's eyes grew soft. Suddenly, she spasmed. It was as though the tight leash on her repressed emotions had suddenly snapped, already stretched to it's breaking point.

"Cookie, no. I'm here to help you, you have to believe me – " Kristen tried for a soothing voice.

" – They didn't believe me – "

" – I know, I'll help. I promise-"

" – I told them, they didn't believe me –"

" – Cookie, you have to give me time – "

"_I have no time_!" Cookie thrashed around furiously, resisting Kristen's attempts to keep her still.

"Cookie!"

"You have to get me out of here. You have to –" A loud crash resonated. With horror, Kristen saw the broken shards of the lamp Cookie had toppled, the room plunging into instant blackness.

All hell broke loose.

The alarm started screeching, a loud wail. All the inmates were waking up, shouting. Guards were rushing up. Kristen could hear the ominous click of their pistols and the heavy, metallic pounding of their footsteps.

"Shit!" Kristen cursed out loud. "I have to go."

"NO!" Cookie screamed and grabbed onto Kristen's arm. "DON'T LEAVE, PLEASE –"

Wild panic rose in Kristen's throat as she fought desperately to free herself of Cookie. But the harder she pulled, the tighter Cookie seemed to hold on. The guards were approaching, ready to burst in any minute. With a last burst of energy, she wrenched hard…and managed to free herself.

"FREEZE." The guards hollered.

Without even thinking, she leapt towards her only exit – the window, thrown wide open.

She jumped.

Bad fortune indeed.

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**The plot thickens...**


End file.
